Atlas Shrugged – 50 years later – At a time of rampant collectivism, Ayn Rand renewed the promise of liberty. But her ethics are dangerous. When Ayn Rand finished writing “Atlas Shrugged” 50 years ago this month, she set off an intellectual shock wave that is still felt today. It’s credited for helping to halt the communist tide and ushering in the currents of capitalism. Many readers say it transformed their lives. A 1991 poll rated it the second-most influential book (after the Bible) for Americans. Read article below.

When Ayn Rand finished writing “Atlas Shrugged” 50 years ago this month, she set off an intellectual shock wave that is still felt today. It’s credited for helping to halt the communist tide and ushering in the currents of capitalism. Many readers say it transformed their lives. A 1991 poll rated it the second-most influential book (after the Bible) for Americans.

At one level, “Atlas Shrugged” is a steamy soap opera fused into a page- turning political thriller. At nearly 1,200 pages, it has to be. But the epic account of capitalist heroes versus collectivist villains is merely the vehicle for Ms. Rand’s philosophical ideal: “man as a heroic being, with his own happiness as the moral purpose of his life, with productive achievement as his noblest activity, and reason as his only absolute.”

In addition to founding her own philosophical system, objectivism, Rand is honored as the modern fountainhead of laissez-faire capitalism, and as an impassioned, uncompromising, and unapologetic proponent of reason, liberty, individualism, and rational self-interest.

There is much to commend, and much to condemn, in “Atlas Shrugged.” Its object – to restore man to his rightful place in a free society – is wholesome. But its ethical basis – an inversion of the Christian values that predicate authentic capitalism – poisons its teachings.

Mixed lessons from Rand’s heroes

Rand articulates like no other writer the evils of totalitarianism, interventionism, corporate welfarism, and the socialist mindset. “Atlas Shrugged” describes in wretched detail how collective “we” thinking and middle-of-the-road interventionism leads a nation down a road to serfdom. No one has written more persuasively about property rights, honest money (a gold-backed dollar), and the right of an individual to safeguard his wealth and property from the agents of coercion (“taxation is theft”). And long before Gordon Gekko, icon of the movie “Wall Street,” she made greed seem good.

I applaud her effort to counter the negative image of big business as robber barons. Her entrepreneurs are high-minded, principled achievers who relish the competitive edge and have the creative genius to invent exciting new products, manage businesses efficiently, and produce great symphonies without cutting corners. Such actions are often highly risky and financially dangerous and are often met with derision at first. Rand rightly points out that these enterprising leaders are a major cause of economic progress. History is full of examples of “men who took first steps down new roads armed with nothing but their own vision.” In the novel, protagonist Hank Reardon defends his philosophy before a court: “I refuse to apologize for my ability – I refuse to apologize for my success – I refuse to apologize for my money.”

But there’s a dark side to Rand’s teachings. Her defense of greed and selfishness, her diatribes against religion and charitable sacrificing for others who are less fortunate, and her criticism of the Judeo- Christian virtues under the guise of rational Objectivism have tarnished her advocacy of unfettered capitalism. Still, Rand’s extreme canard is a brilliant invention that serves as an essential counterpoint in the battle of ideas.

The Atlas characters are exceptionally memorable. They are the unabashed “immovable movers” of the world who think of nothing but their own business and making money. “… I want to be prepared to claim the greatest virtue of them all – that I was a man who made money,” says copper titan Francisco d’Anconia. But these men are regarded as ruthless, greedy, single-minded individualists. They are men (except for Dagny Taggart, who could be confused for a man) who always talk shop and give scant attention to their family. In fact, no children appear in Rand’s magnum opus.

Her chief protagonist, John Galt, is an uncompromising superman. He is the proverbial Atlas who holds the world on his shoulders. He has invented a fantastic motor, yet is so frustrated with state authority that he withdraws his talents – hence the title, “Atlas Shrugged” – and spends the next dozen years working as a manual laborer for Taggart International.

Mr. Galt somehow succeeds in getting the world’s top capitalists to go on strike and, in many cases, strike back at an increasingly oppressive collectivist government. Rand’s plot violates a key tenet of business existence, which is to constantly work within the system to find ways to make money. Real-world entrepreneurs are compromisers and dealmakers, not true believers. They wouldn’t give a hoot for Galt.

Rand, of course, knows this. And that’s OK, because “Atlas Shrugged” is about philosophy, not business. In her world, there are two kinds of people: those who serve and satisfy themselves only and those who believe that they should strive to serve and satisfy others. She calls the latter “altruists.”

Rand is truly revolutionary because she makes the first serious attempt to protest against altruism. She rejects the heart over the mind and faith beyond reason. Indeed, she denies the existence of any god or higher being, or any other authority over one’s own mind. For her, the highest form of happiness is fulfilling one’s own dreams, not someone else’s – or the public’s.

Galt crystallizes the Randian motto: “I swear by my life and my love of it that I will never live for the sake of another man nor ask another man to live for mine.” No sacrifice, no altruism, no feelings, just pure egotistical selfishness, which Rand declares to be supreme logic and reason.

This philosophy transcends politics and economics into romance. The novel’s sex scenes are narcissistic, mechanical, and violent. Are the lessons of her book any way to run a marriage, a family, a business, a charity, or a community?

To be sure, Rand makes a key point about altruism. A philosophy of sacrificing for others can lead to a political system that mandates sacrificing for others. That, Rand shows with frightening clarity, leads to a dysfunctional society of deadbeats and bleeding-heart do-gooders (Rand calls them “looters”) who are corrupted by benefits and unearned income, and constantly tax the productive citizens to pay for their pet philanthropic missions. According to Rand, they are “anti-life.”

But is the only alternative to embrace the opposite, Rand’s philosophy of extreme self-centeredness? Must we accept her materialist metaphysics in which, as Whittaker Chambers wrote in 1957, “Randian Man, like Marxian Man, is made the center of a godless world”?

No, there is another choice. If society is to survive and prosper, citizens must find a balance between the two extremes of self-interest and public interest.

Adam Smith, the founder of modern economics, may have found that Aristotelian mean in his “system of natural liberty.” Mr. Smith and Rand agree on the universal benefits of a free, capitalistic society. But Smith rejects Rand’s vision of selfish independence. He asserts two driving forces behind man’s actions.

In “The Theory of Moral Sentiments,” he identifies the first as “sympathy” or “benevolence” toward others in society. In his later work, “The Wealth of Nations,” he focuses on the second – self-interest – which he defines as the right to pursue one’s own business. Both, he argues, are essential to achieve “universal opulence.”

Smith’s self-interest never reaches the Randian selfishness that ignores the interest of others. In Smith’s mind, an individual’s goals cannot be fully achieved in business unless he appeals to the needs of others. This insight was beautifully stated two centuries later by free-market champion Ludwig von Mises. In his book, “The Anti-Capitalist Mentality,” he writes: “Wealth can be acquired only by serving the consumers.”

Golden rule anchors true capitalism

Smith’s theme echoes his Christian heritage, particularly the Golden rule, “Therefore all things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them” (Matt. 7:12). Perhaps a true capitalist spirit can best be summed up in the commandment, “Love thy neighbour as thyself” (Lev. 19:18; Matt. 22:39). Smith and Mr. von Mises would undoubtedly agree with this creed, but the heroes of “Atlas Shrugged” – and their creator – would agree with only half.

Today’s most successful libertarian CEOs, such as John Mackey of Whole Foods Markets and Charles Koch of Koch Industries, have adopted the authentic spirit of capitalism that is more in keeping with Smith than Rand.

Theirs is a “stakeholder” philosophy that works within the system to fulfill the needs of customers, employees, shareholders, the community, and themselves. Their balanced business model of self- interest and public interest shows how the marketplace can grow globally in harmony with the interests of workers, capitalists, and the community – and can even displace bad government.

The golden rule is the correct solution in business and life. But would we have recognized this Aristotelian mean without sampling Rand’s anthem, or for that matter, the other extreme of Marxism-Leninism? As Benjamin Franklin said, “By the collision of different sentiments, sparks of truth are struck out, and political light is obtained.”

John Galt – it’s time to come home and go to work.

• Mark Skousen has taught economics at Columbia University and is the author of the new book, “The Big Three in Economics.”

Ayn Rand, author of the celebrated Capitalism: The Unknown Idea, is honored almost universally as the fountainhead of market capitalism, an impassioned proponent of reason, individualism, and rational self-interest.

There is much to praise in Ayn Rand’s novels and writings, especially her uncompromising defense of freedom and her unrelenting denunciations of collectivism. No one has written more persuasively about property rights, the right of an individual to safeguard his wealth and property from the agents of coercion. Her novels The Fountainhead and Atlas Shrugged have probably done more than any other works of fiction to vindicate and honor the glories of “making money.”

Yet in reading her novels and writings, I was surprised to learn that her work often portrays a strange, distorted view of the money-making process. In a perverse way, her model of business may even give aid to the cause of the enemies of liberty–by giving capitalism a bad name.

Consumer Sovereign in The Fountainhead

Take, for example, Howard Roark’s philosophy toward his architectural work in The Fountainhead. In the beginning, Roark indicates that he chose architecture as a profession because he loves his work. He seeks to set the highest standards of excellence. He tries to be creative. All of these traits are to be admired.

But then Roark denies a basic tenet of sound economics–the principle of consumer sovereignty. When the dean of the architectural school tells Roark, “Your only purpose is to serve him [the client],” Roark objects. “I don’t intend to build in order to serve or help anyone. I don’t intend to build in order to have clients. I intend to have clients in order to build.” (1994:14) This bizarre, almost anti-social, attitude sounds like a perverse rending of Say’s Law, “supply creates its own demand,” or the statement made in the film Field of Dreams, “If you build it, they will come.” But supply only creates demand if the supply can be sold to customers; and people come to a new baseball field only if they want to play or watch. Supply must satisfy demand, or it becomes a wasted resource.

Now I have no problem with an architect who tries to set new standards of design, just as I would applaud entrepreneurs who seek to invent a new product or design a new process. Such actions are often highly risky and financially dangerous, and are often met with derision at first. Ayn Rand rightly points out that they are a major cause of economic progress. History is full of examples of “men who took first steps down new roads armed with nothing but their own vision.” (Rand 1994:710)

But the goal of all rational entrepreneurship must be to satisfy the needs of consumers, not to ignore them! Discovering and fulfilling the needs of customers is the essence of market capitalism. Imagine how far a TV manufacturer would get if he decides to build TVs that only tune into his five favorite channels, the consumer be damned. It wouldn’t be long before he would be on the road to bankruptcy.

Rand Denies the Essence of Business Enterprise

In short, Howard Roark’s conviction is irrational and contradicts a basic premise of Rand’s Objectivist philosophy. For Roark, A is not A. He wants A to be B–his B, not his customer’s A. Thus, Ayn Rand’s ideal man misconceives the very nature and logic of capitalism–to fulfill the needs of customers and thereby advance the general welfare. As Ludwig von Mises writes in his book, The Anti-Capitalist Mentality, “The profit system makes those men prosper who have succeeded in filling the wants of the people in the best possible and cheapest way. Wealth can be acquired only by serving the consumers.” (1972:2) Apparently Howard Roark doesn’t believe in consumer sovereignty. As he states in his final court defense, “An architect needs clients, but he dos not subordinate his work to their wishes.” (1994:714) Really?

Talk to any architects about The Fountainhead. Yes, they will tell you that there are a few self-centered, highly-egotistical, elitist Howard-Roark types in architecture who can get away with making monuments to their egos at their client’s expense. Frank Lloyd Wright, an architect Rand deeply admired, may be one of them. But the book’s thesis is entirely unrealistic in the everyday world of commercial building. Occasionally a client values more the notoriety of living in a home built by a signature designer than getting what he really wants, but not many. Almost all of Rand’s scenarios are extreme and idealistic, a strategy that works to sell novels, but does violence to all sense of reality. Normally architects work closely with the client and make numerous changes in order to fit the client’s needs.

Compromise is a necessary element to a successful completion of a project. And this consumer-oriented approach is true in all areas of capitalistic production. An architect or producer of any product who acts like Roark in The Fountainhead is likely to be out of work. Roark’s fate is even worse–he is guilty of his crime, blowing up a much-needed housing project rather than permit the slightest alteration in his designs. The jury may have exonerated him, but the market punishes his kind of behavior.

Ironically, Ayn Rand herself compromised in the making of the movie “The Fountainhead.” She insisted that only Frank Lloyd Wright would design the models for the film, but her demand was later rejected due to Wright’s outrageous fee. In the end, the models were done by a studio set designer. Rand called them “horrible” and “embarrassingly bad.” But the film was made and released. (Branden 1986:209) Oh, the agonies of dealing with other people!

The fact that Howard Roark represents the ideal man in Ayn Rand’s novel and the fact that she denigrates other characters in The Fountainhead who “compromise” with client’s demands suggest that Ayn Rand is philosophically in denial when it comes to comprehending the nature of business. She denies the very raison d’etre of capitalism–consumer sovereignty.

Assault on the Common Man

In this sense, Ayn Rand is not much different from other artists and intellectuals. Artists often bash the capitalist system. They hate the idea of subjecting their talents to crass commercialism and the crude tastes of the common man. Yet Ludwig von Mises chastised this snobbish attitude in The Anti-Capitalist Mentality: “The judgment about the merits of a work of art is entirely subjective. Some people praise what others disdain. There is no yardstick to measure the aesthetic worth of a poem or of a building.” (1972:75) Mises adds that only through economic progress — the creation of surplus wealth — has the level of taste and art been raised to meet the criteria of the more sophisticated artist. “When modern industry began to provide the masses with the paraphernalia of a better life, their main concern was to produce as cheaply as possible without any regard to aesthetic values. Later, when the progress of capitalism had raised the masses’ standard of living, they turned step by step to the fabrication of things which do not lack refinement and beauty.” (1972:80)

The Flaw in Atlas Shrugged

This brings us to the fatal flaw in Atlas Shrugged. Rand’s basic plot violates the whole rationale of business’s existence–constantly working within the system to find ways to make money. There will never be a Galt’s Gulch, where the world’s greatest entrepreneurs isolated themselves from the rest of the world. There will never be enough principled business leaders to fight the system. The business world does not typically attract ideologues and true believers; it attracts people primarily interested in money making by whatever means. They wouldn’t give John Galt the time of day. As Mises states, “There is little social intercourse between the successful businessmen and the nation’s eminent authors, artists and scientists…Most of the ‘socialites’ are not interested in books and ideas.” (Mises 1972:19) Ayn Rand admired Mises, but apparently she didn’t learn much from his writings. Pity.

Altruism Vs. Selfishness

Howard Roark’s diatribe against consumer sovereignty is undoubtedly a way to introduce Rand’s philosophy of selfishness. There are two extremes here: The philosophy of those who serve and satisfy themselves only, and the philosophy of those who believe that they should strive at all times to serve and sacrifice for others. Rand labels the latter “altruism.” In The Virtue of Selfishness, she opines, “Altruism declares that any action taken for the benefit of others is good, and any action taken for one’s own benefit is evil.” (Rand 1999:80) Obviously, Rand protests against altruism and espouses the opposite extreme. As Francisco d’Anconias tells Dagny Taggart in Atlas Shrugged: “Don’t consider our interests or our desires. You have no duty to anyone but yourself.” (Rand 1992:802) No sacrifice, no altruism, just pure egotistical selfishness.

The Adam Smith Solution

The founder of modern economics, Adam Smith, takes a different approach by trying to incorporate both concepts in his “system of natural liberty.” Smith and Rand are in agreement about the universal benefits of a free capitalistic society. But Smith rejects Rand’s vision of selfish independence. He teaches that there are two driving forces behind man’s actions–in his Theory of Moral Sentiments, he identifies the first as “sympathy” or “benevolence” toward others in society, while in his Wealth of Nations, he focuses on the second, “self interest,” the right to pursue one’s own business. Smith believes that as the market economy develops and individuals move away from their community, “self interest” becomes a more dominant force than “sympathy.” But both are essential to achieve “universal opulence.” (Smith 1965:11)

Adam Smith is famous for making a statement that sounds Randian in tone: “It is not from the benevolence of the butcher, the brewer, or the baker, that we expect our dinner, but from their regard to their own interest.” (Smith 1965:14) But this statement is often taken out of context. Smith’s self-interest never reaches the Randian selfishness that ignores the interest of others. On the contrary, in Smith’s mind, an individual’s goals cannot be fully achieved in business unless he appeals to the self-interest of others. Smith says so in the very next sentence: “We address ourselves, not to their humanity but to their self-love, and never talk to them of our own necessities but of their advantages.” (Ibid.) Moreover, he writes earlier on the same page, “He will be more likely to prevail if he can interest their self-love in his favour….Give me that which I want, and you shall have this which you want, is the mean of every such offer.” (Ibid.) Smith’s theme echoes his Christian heritage, particularly the golden rule, “do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” (See Matthew 7:12)

Perhaps a true capitalist spirit can best be summed up in the Christian commandment, “Love thy neighbor as thyself.” (Matthew 22:39) Adam Smith and Ludwig von Mises would undoubtedly agree with this creed, but apparently Howard Roark and John Galt — and their creator — would agree with only half. And that’s a great tragedy for the greatest novelist of the 20th century.

LIBERTY – The First Galt’s Gulch Film Festival
Special report from the First International Libertarian Film Festival.

By Mark Skousen

GALT’S GULCH, COLORADO–What better location for the first libertarian film festival than Atlas Shrugged‘s Atlantis, the hidden valley high in the Rockies to which the world’s most productive individualists repaired when they went on strike?

Ragnar Danneskjold, the philosopher turned pirate, was the first to suggest the idea. “Gentlemen, we’ve been stuck here in this boring place for over 30 years, and the world still hasn’t begged us to return.” He closed the book he was reading, How I Found Freedom in an Unfree World, and stood up. “Fellow libertarians, or classical liberals, or Objectivists, or whatever we are, I’m sick and tired of sitting around reading philosophic tomes and self-help manuals. Let’s have a film festival! Every night we’ll see a different picture.”

It was the first time in years that everyone had agreed on anything. John Galt, puffing madly on a gold cigarette, insisted that each film be strictly benevolent and life affirming in nature. “Our standards must be objective!” he shouted. “A is A!”

Word quickly spread, and Galt’s band of industrialists, scientists, doctors, and philosophers met at Midas Mulligan’s private theater the next evening. His library consisted of several thousand films; most of them pirated by Ragnar Danneskjold. The theater was a cozy little screening room that held approximately 50 guests. Surrounding the theater were photographs and posters of famous stars, including Gary Cooper, John Wayne, Clint Eastwood, and Farrah Fawcett (signed “Please, Ayn, let me play Dagny”).

By 7:00, the place was packed. Luminaries included industrialist Hank Rearden, oil magnate Ellis Wyatt, composer Richard Halley, movie actress Kay Ludlow, and Dr Thomas Hendricks. The last to appear was Dagny Taggart escorted by John Galt. She was still in an arm sling, recovering from another airplane accident. “I’m completely helpless without you, John,” she whispered, staring dreamily into his blue eyes. “I’11 pretend you never said that,” Galt responded, blowing smoke in her face.

Ragnar Danneskjold started things off. To qualify as a libertarian film, he said, a movie should offer protagonists who are rugged individualists and non-conformists, questioning the rules of society. They must be independent thinkers who unabashedly support their own self-interest and are reluctant to meddle in the affairs of others. Naturally, they will be skeptical of organized religion. Libertarian heroes should be uncompromising defenders of laissez-faire capitalism. They should champion the right to pursue the creation of wealth without guilt. Finally, they must oppose state power in all its forms, including the evils and injustices of war.

“Given these qualities, it may not surprise you to learn that most libertarian films have unhappy endings,” he warned the audience.

“Isn’t that a contradiction?” asked Rearden. “Don’t we believe in a benevolent, life-affirming universe?” The others remained silent.

Ragnar announced that he had uncovered a dozen films in the Atlantis library that in his judgment contained libertarian themes. A film was shown each night, followed by discussion and sometimes-heated debate.

“This is a superb film that contains all the libertarian themes,” asserted Ragnar.

The storyline: The Andersons are hardworking, honest, independent farmers minding their own business, when the Civil War breaks out. The father (Jimmy Stewart) is a widower who honors his wife’s last request to attend church every Sunday and to say grace at dinner every night. While Anderson is skeptical of religion, he believes in honoring a contract, whether verbal or written. His libertarian prayer is a classic:

“Lord, we cleared this land, we plowed it, sowed and harvested it, and we cooked the harvest; it wouldn’t be here and we wouldn’t be eating it if we hadn’t done it ourselves. We worked dog-bone hard for every crumb and morsel, but we thank the Lord just the same for the food we’re about to eat. Amen.”

This prayer is repeated at the end of the movie, but it seems rather hollow after the Andersons have suffered the pains of war.

The Andersons are anti-war, anti-draft, and anti-state. They are Virginians, so they won’t support the North, yet they don’t own slaves, so they refuse to fight for the South. They don’t believe in the draft, although they are free to volunteer: “My sons don’t belong to the state.” They don’t believe in the government: “We never asked anything of the state, and we don’t figure we owe anything to it either.” They are anti-war: “Like all wars, the undertakers are winning it. The politicians talk about the glory of it, the old men will talk about the need of it. … The soldiers, they just want to go home. ” They are isolationists:

When Federal agents come on the Andersons’ property to confiscate their horses, using authority granted by an Act of Congress, one of the Anderson boys asks his dad, “What does confiscation mean, Pa?” He answers, “Stealing.” The Andersons refuse to turn over the horses and a fight ensues. The federal agents are driven off. Eventually, the Andersons feel obligated to enter the war when the youngest son is taken prisoner by the Northerners. At the end of the film, they get a taste of the horrors of war. Two sons are killed and a daughter-in-law is brutally assaulted.

“In short,” Ragnar summarized at the end, “it is nearly impossible to escape the evils of war, even if you try to mind your own business.”

No one could argue with that, and the film festival adjourned with everyone giving Shenandoah five stars.

“How can you consider cowardice a moral imperative?” Again, it was Rearden who spoke.

At issue was the personal philosophy of Charlie Madison (James Garner). The story is about “dog-robbers,” personal valets to American generals and admirals, in Britain during World War II. The plot focuses on the relationship between American Commander Madison, personal assistant to Admiral Jessup, and Emily, a British Navy staff member. Madison is a promiscuous opportunist who has no interest in the war and is, in fact, a complete cynic. Emily (Julie Andrews), on the other hand, represents the traditional view — that the Allies are fighting an honorable and virtuous war against the evil Axis and that all good citizens and soldiers must be willing to sacrifice for the good of the war. When Charlie offers Emily some Hershey candy bars (unavailable to the general public), she refuses. When he makes advances, she slaps him. “I think it’s profane to enjoy this war,” she tells Charlie. She notes that Charlie does whatever is necessary, including bribery, to get his way or provide black-market goods (filet mignon) and services (prostitution) for his admiral. “You’re a complete rascal,” she says. In response, Charlie calls Emily a “prig. ”

“This film reminded me of the book, Overpaid, Oversexed, and Over Here,” commented Rearden. “It’s a book about American GIs in World War II Britain. I’d hardly call them heroes. Does Charlie Madison have any scruples, any admirable qualities?”

“Yes, I’11 defend him,” Richard Halley said. “Charlie Madison is to be honored for his eloquent condemnation of war, the stupidity of war. Besides, I like the music.”

In response to Emily’s self-righteous stance, Madison states, “I’ve had Germans and Italians tell me how politically ingenuous we are, but we haven’t managed a Hitler or Mussolini yet. This war … is the result of 2,000 years of European greed, barbarism, superstition, and stupidity. Don’t blame it on our Coca-Cola bottles.” In a conversation with Emily’s mother, he declares, “I’m not sentimental about war. I see nothing noble in widows.”

“What are your religious views?” Emily’s mother asks.

“I’m a practicing coward. ”

Madison condemns war. “We must resist honoring the institution of war. … We must condemn the traditional heroism of self-sacrificing soldiers.” Rather, Madison elevates selfishness and self-preservation as supreme virtues. “It’s not greed and ambition that makes wars, it’s goodness. … As long as valor remains a virtue, we shall have soldiers.”

Later he proclaims the value of an amoral lifestyle: “Life isn’t good or bad or true, it’s merely factual. It’s sensual, it’s alive…. I want to know what I am, not what I should be.” As he leaves Emily, he tells her that he wants to be remembered as one “unregenerately eating a Hershey bar. ”

Most of the audience roared with approval. Dagny stood up in the darkened room, and it was her lips that said, “He is the ideal man!” John Galt remained silent.

In the end, Emily is “Americanized.” She adopts his philosophy regarding war. She goes to bed with him. Speaking fondly of Charlie’s memory, she says, “We no longer take pride in death in this house. What was admirable about Charlie was his sensation of life, his cowardly, selfish, greedy appreciation of life.”

As the applause died down, Rearden took exception to Charlie Madison’s character. “Despite Madison’s eloquent condemnation of war, what about Charlie himself? Is his denunciation of war simply a justification of his cowardice? The Andersons in Shenandoah were never chicken. They were willing to fight for what they believed in. Moreover, when he miraculously survives Normandy, will Madison be faithful to his bride? Or will he remain a wheeler-dealer in civilian life? Libertarianism must not be equated with a libertine lifestyle! Liberty does not mean license! Charlie Madison is not my kind of hero.”

But even as Rearden spoke, the audience was giving The Americanization of Emily a standing ovation.

The storyline: John Russell (Paul Newman) is an Apache-raised “hombre” returning to a white man’s world. Russell is not afraid to defend his honor or to use a gun.

“He’s not a coward like Charlie Madison,” yelled Hank Rearden.

“Hush!” shouted Quentin Daniels, clutching a bag of popcorn in one hand and a cigarette in another.

Russell doesn’t believe in getting involved in other people’s affairs. When a gunslinger threatens a man, demanding his stagecoach ticket, Russell does nothing to help the innocent man. After the event, a witness turns to Russell and says, “You should have done something.”
“Wasn’t my business.”
“But if he had taken your ticket?”
“He didn’t.”
“That soldier would have helped you.”
“I didn’t ask him for any. … I didn’t feel like bleeding for him, and even if it isn’t all right with you.”

On the other hand, Russell, raised by Apaches, defends the rights of Indians. “They live where they don’t want to live.” In the beginning of the film, when a cowboy insults a fellow Indian, he hits him with the butt of his gun.

Hombre does not live by the rules of gentlemen and society. He is an outsider. He feels no obligation to assist other passengers on the stagecoach when they are robbed and left helpless. He shoots two of the robbers, one armed, the other unarmed. He takes off immediately, leaving the others behind complaining that “we are all together. ” They finally catch up with him.

When the remaining robbers return to exchange a hostage for money, Russell is uncooperative. They threaten to shoot the hostage. Hombre is undisturbed.
“All right, shoot her…. She’s nothing to me.
“What about the others!”
“They say what they want.

Russell has a code of ethics, however. He keeps the saddlebags of bank notes, which had been stolen from the Indians, not for himself, but to be returned to the Indians, the rightful owners.

At the end of the film there’s a stalemate between the robbers and the passengers. Everyone except Russell turns out to be a coward, unwilling to exchange the money for the hostage. Finally, the stalemate is resolved when Russell takes the risk and sacrifices himself. His heroic, selfless act results in his demise. He is killed.

“You see what happens when men abandon their self-interest and sacrifice for humanity? Is that what you call virtue?” It was John Galt who spoke, and three hours later he was still speaking. The others remained silent.

Ragnar introduced the film, another Paul Newman appearance as a nonconformist libertarian. “In this case, the film tells the tragic — no, I mean the benevolent and life-affirming story of an individualist who, like many freedom loving souls, has tremendous potential yet fails to achieve it.”

“I’ve never planned anything in my life,” comments Lucas Jackson (Newman). His record indicates that he started as a buck private in the army, earned a Purple Heart in World War II, yet ended his stint the same way he started — as a buck private. Why did he tear off the heads of parking meters in a small town, landing him in a prison camp? “Settling an old score,” he responds, implying an act of revenge against the state, perhaps motivated by the war years. Lucas Jackson’s problem is that he can’t conform to official authority, which he characterizes as “lots of guys laying down a lot of rules and regulations.” The rules are often bureaucratic and nonsensical. When Luke is put into the one-man box overnight, after his mother passes away, a guard tells him, “Sorry, Luke, I’m just doing my job.” Luke responds, “Calling it a job don’t make it right.”

In prison, Luke quickly becomes a leader. He’s the best poker player among the prisoners. He meets incredible challenges (“I can eat 50 eggs”) and never gives up, even when he’s beat (the boxing match).

Luke doesn’t blame others for his problems. “What I’ve done I’ve done myself” he tells his distraught mother. “Man’s got to go his own way.” Luke must work out his own salvation. But the unrepentant prisoner is skeptical of God and religion. He goes into a church alone. “Anybody here?” he yells. There is no answer. Life is unfair, he concludes.

“You’ve got to learn the rules,” he is told. But Luke is a social misfit–opposed not to ordinary people, but to the state. “What we have here is a failure to communicate,” says the warden in a famous line. Luke disrupts the state prison system and pushes state officials to the limit of tolerance. Finally, they destroy him.

“I remember someone like that,” said Hank. “Back at Rearden Steel.”

“I’m not sure I understand this film’s ideological context.”

The hesitant voice was that of Dr. Thomas Hendricks, the famous surgeon. “In Hombre, the libertarian is killed when he finally comes to the rescue of someone who needs help. In Cool Hand Luke, just the opposite occurs: the libertarian is killed when he refuses to conform to society. Libertarians can’t win no matter what.”

Galt’s eyes narrowed. “We never said our lot would be easy,” he said. “Here, Doc, have a cigarette.”

The evening’s performance ended with a question. “Which actor has done more libertarian movies than anybody else?” asked Ragnar.

“If you think last night’s film puts libertarians in a bad light,” commented Ragnar, “Wait until you see this evening’s picture. You’ll see what Paul Newman really thinks of libertarians.”

“Newman isn’t a libertarian!” yelled Kay Ludlow, the movie actress. “He isn’t even a good actor!”

“Perhaps so,” Ragnar replied. “As a matter of fact, in this film the Henry Stamper family, imbued with the libertarian philosophy, is placed in a highly unfavorable light.” The lights went down and the film began.

Henry Fonda plays an irascible, stubborn father who lives by the family motto, “never give an inch.” He heads an independent family logging operation in Oregon that is anti-union, anti-socialist, and anti-feminist (the women have little or no influence, and hardly ever talk). But they are hard working men of their word who don’t violate their contracts. Consequently, they become scabs when the rest of the community joins in a union strike.

The Stamper family is against anyone telling them what to do, whether a “commie, pinko” government or a threatening labor union. Hank (the oldest son, played by Newman) sardonically talks back to the union leaders: “You’re going to tell us when to stop cutting, who to sell to, and pat our little bottoms and tell us what good little boys we are.

In the final analysis, the family never gives an inch, but as a result Hank loses a father, a brother, and a wife. He also fails to help a theater-owner who later commits suicide. Despite paying this high price, Hank is defiant to the end.

“You must never compromise your principles,” declared John Galt at the end of the movie, “no matter what the price.”

“I’m afraid the price is too high for me.” Everyone turned and stared at the face of Francisco d’Anconia.

“This surrealistic story is the best dystopian film I’ve ever seen,” declared Ragnar. “The plot, full of black comedy, is far more entertaining and exciting than the stereotyped attempt to put George Orwell’s classic on the silver screen. The cinematography and production designs are dazzling. It’s a visual feast of imagination and creativity.”

Instead of being ruthlessly efficient, the central authority in Brazil gropes incompetently through a nightmare of paperwork, unreliable services, and a bloated and incredibly complex infrastructure. Nothing works — a vivid reminder of the old Soviet Union. Despite the government’s hoard of advanced weapons, the ubiquitous spy machines, and federal police galore, the underground survives and even thrives. The black market engineer (De Niro), referred to by state operatives as a “terrorist,” is never caught. However, a government clerk (Pryce), who holds fast to his ideals and his Dream Girl (Greist), is tortured and destroyed.

“Brazil paints a picture of the future that is much more believable than Nineteen Eighty-four,” Ragnar commented at the end of the presentation.

“Even more believable than Atlas Shrugged?” The darkened theater was too thick with smoke for anyone to recognize who said it.

Ragnar’s eyes narrowed, but he continued. “The storyline includes no-knock break-ins by federal SWAT teams, national ID cards required for all citizens, constant monitoring through X-ray machines, everyone living in tall apartment complexes, etc. But you also witness bureaucratic mix-ups, thriving black markets, and underground opposition. You can see it coming. It’s eerie.”

“Eerier than Atlas Shrugged?” But the theater was still too thick with smoke.

Ragnar bravely introduced the film. “Several pictures have been made about Sir Robin of Loxley, the outlaw of Sherwood Forest, including a recent effort by Kevin Costner, but nothing compares to the original, dynamic Errol Flynn version. He’s my kind of hero!”

“He’s the ‘hero’ that we tried to kill!” It was Francisco’s voice that protested.

“I remember that movie,” said Midas Mulligan.

Francisco remained silent.

Robin Hood’s oath, “To take from the rich and give to the poor,” sounds more like standard fare of the Clintonistas than a libertarian creed. But, like many libertarian heroes, Sir Robin is misunderstood–even by Ayn Rand. The real story, clearly revealed in this film version, is that Sir Robin of Loxley is not simply an outlaw who stole from the rich, but a fighter against unjust taxation and other acts of oppression by the forces of the state, Prince John and the Sheriff of Nottingham. Conforming to the legend, the twelfth-century Norman authorities impose unbearable fares on the Saxons, beating and torturing them, raping their women, and confiscating their property when they refuse to pay. A law is passed making it a capital crime to kill the king’s deer in Sherwood Forest, even if the hunter is starving. Robin’s band of merry men oppose this oppression, and their efforts to “steal from the rich” are in reality aimed at recapturing the tax monies that are rightfully theirs in the first place. The bold rascal Robin Hood isn’t a reckless outlaw, but a brave patriot. “I’II organize revolt,” he proclaims before Prince John and his entourage. “I’II never rest until I strike a blow for freedom.”

“You speak treason,” asserts Maid Marian.

“Fluently,” replies Sir Robin.

“There’s only one problem with this picture,” muttered Lawrence Hammond, the automobile magnate, glancing warily at Midas Mulligan, who had saved Hammond’s non-competitive business with a well-timed loan of a hundred pounds of gold. “What does Robin Hood do with the tax money he seizes? Does he keep it himself or does he return it to its rightful owners?”

“Better ask Ragnar about that,” said Mulligan. Ragnar had recently opened his own bank.

In this version, King Richard the Lion Hearted is being held for ransom in Europe, and the merry men decide to use the money to pay it off Richard is viewed as a benevolent king who ousts Prince John and reestablishes peace and liberty when he returns. Yet this is the same King Richard who has left England to lead the Crusades against the “infidels.”

Dagny ground her cigarette into her popcorn. “This is an unjustifiable act of religious intolerance and imperialism, an act that no libertarian can justify,” she declared. “Under these circumstances, The Adventures of Robin Hood, however well-performed, cannot be viewed as an entirely satisfactory libertarian film.”

“Aw, pipe down,” said John Galt. “I’11 do the talking in this family.”

“All right,” replied Ragnar, “if you don’t like this version of Robin Hood, you still might enjoy tomorrow night’s alternative. Stay tuned!”

“The story of Zorro has been produced on the silver screen numerous times, but nothing beats the 1940 version with Tyrone Power,” said Ragnar.

“That’s your opinion,” said John Galt.

Diego Vega, son of a rich plantation owner, returns from Spain to learn that his honorable father has been deposed as Alcalde of Los Angeles and replaced by tyrants who “make the people more industrious” by imposing heavy taxes (shades of Bill Clinton). Those who can’t pay are tortured and jailed (shades of Janet Reno). His father is an old traditionalist, a stickler for law and order, and refuses to fight back. “Two wrongs don’t make a right.

But the young, debonair, and tepid Diego becomes the brave, resourceful outlaw Zorro at night, recapturing the gold that the rulers have stolen from the “peons.” What does he do with the money?

“That’s what I’d like to know!” exclaimed Midas Mulligan. Ragnar remained silent.

“This gold was wrung from the peons, he tells the local padre. “It’s up to us to restore it to them.”

The story ends when the peons, under Zorro’s leadership, storm the mayor’s headquarters and reappoint Diego’s father as Alcalde.

“Fantastic!” exclaimed Midas Mulligan. “Clearly, Zorro does not suffer from bad motives, as is the case with Robin Hood — and some other people I might mention. I give The Mark of Zorro five stars.”

Cash McCall (Garner) is the quintessential misunderstood business tycoon. As a takeover artist and financier, a cross between Howard Hughes and Michael Milken, he is feared and loathed by the public, the media, his business partners — even school kids, who have made up a nursery rhyme about him. He is viewed as a vulgar, fast buck, unscrupulous, cold-hearted robber baron that takes over companies, lays off workers, and sells the enterprises at a hefty profit. At the beginning of the picture, McCall is being investigated by the IRS for tax evasion. Later he is accused by his fiancée, Lory Austen (Natalie Wood), of being unfaithful.

“I’m a thoroughly vulgar character, Cash McCall says, playing on his public image. “I enjoy making money. “So do I!” said Kay Ludlow.

“When the hell did you ever make any money?” asked Dagny. “You wouldn’t have gotten to your auditions if I hadn’t given you a railroad pass!” “Aw, pipe down!” interjected John Galt. “Give ‘er a break, will ya’?” Kay Ludlow smiled.

But the reality of the man is completely different from appearances. Cash McCall is, in fact, an efficient, shrewd businessman with a high standard of personal and business ethics. He admits that he is not a “company man.” As an independent financier, he likes to “buy old companies, whip them into shape, and sell them.” But there is nothing shady about him. He honors his commitments and doesn’t try to hide things. He gives potential sellers a chance to get out of his deals. Cash has an opportunity to take advantage of Lory when they first meet, but refrains.

Unlike many other libertarian films, this one actually has a happy ending.

“That’s the most beautiful film I’ve ever seen,” said Kay Ludlow. Dagny remained silent. She was remembering all the times John had refused to take advantage of her.

“How in the devil could you include a religious film, Rag?” demanded John Galt. “You never really were one of us, were you?”

“But it’s so romantic,” said Kay Ludlow. “And so realistic, too!”

“Well, maybe you’re right,” said John Galt. “It might be benevolent and life-affirming.”

Dagny Taggart suddenly stood up. “Religion is the opiate of the masses. I’m leaving!” She put out her cigarette and exited the theater, followed by Francisco.

“Have an open mind,” pleaded Ragnar, oblivious to John and Kay’s increasingly harmonious ideological trends. “This movie actually has an underlying libertarian theme.”
The hero, Prince Juda Ben Hur (Heston), is the wealthiest man in Jerusalem, having obtained his wealth honorably as a merchant. He treats his servants as friends and stewards, not as slaves. When Ben Hur is confronted by the new Roman commander Messala (Boyd), his boyhood friend, he defends his country’s right to be free from foreign oppression: “Withdraw your legions, give us our freedom.” Ben Hur is opposed to violence, but will not turn informer and reveal the names of dissident Jews. “They are not criminals — they’re patriots” he explains.

Messala offers Ben Hur power and protection if he will betray his people, but he cannot be bought. “I’d rather be a fool than a traitor.

Ben-Hur has personal integrity. He refuses to kill Messala in cold blood, even though he has the opportunity. He becomes a Roman citizen when he saves the life of the Roman fleet commander Quintus Arias. But he returns his adopted father’s ring after coming back to Jerusalem. He will not take part in the Roman policies of slavery and tyranny.

“Still, he is a thorough-going, practicing Jew, a member of an irrational faith,” Rearden asserted after the film was over.

“It is the only thing that keeps him alive,” explained Ragnar. “The Jewish demand for revenge. It’s life-affirming.”

“Religion denies an objective, rational world — and requires faith in things you cannot see or feel,” insisted Galt. “That’s right,” Kay murmured.

“Granted, Juda Ben-Hur is a true believer in God, but he bases his belief on real evidence — such as the event at Nazareth where he is miraculously given water by the carpenter. That’s one of the most moving scenes ever filmed. And note how skeptical he is about the new Christian religion. He does not believe until he actually sees a miracle his mother and sister are healed of leprosy. Only then do bitterness and hatred leave his soul, allowing him to become a happy man again.”

The debate continued into the night in the midst of a smoke-filled room, although John, Dagny, Francisco, and Kay were no longer present.

Ragnar Danneskjold was excited about the eleventh night’s presentation. “It’s my favorite movie — an action film full of violence, intrigue, and romance!”

“Better than Rambo, Dirty Harry, and Rooster Cogburn?”

“Much better!”

This is the story of four mercenaries, men who fight and die for anybody, for any cause, anywhere — if the price is right. In this story, they hunt diamonds, they hunt cannibals, and they hunt each other. Ostensibly, they are paid to rescue a community deep in war-torn Congo under threat of attack by vicious rebels, flesh-hungry cannibals; but they also have a clandestine objective of bringing out a load of priceless diamonds. The action is fast-paced, the music is haunting, and the train scenes ale unforgettable.

“This is my kind of life,” proclaimed Ragnar.

“I’d love to be on that train right now,” exclaimed Dagny Taggart.

“Me too,” said Francisco, taking the empty seat next to her.

The mercenaries are men without hope who discover that it is never too late. One finds the strength to die like a man, although he has lived his whole life in fear. Another rediscovers self-respect and the chance to start over again, and the third (Bruce Curry, a role magnificently performed by Rod Taylor) finds that he can love again. Still, the story line ends in violence and tragedy. He who lives by the sword must die by the sword. The question is, can there be any salvation for men who commit the vilest of sins?

Everyone applauded when Ragnar announced the festival’s last film. “It’s about time!” said Dagny Taggart.

“It’s about time!” added Francisco d’Anconia.

Ragnar agreed. “A libertarian film festival would not be complete without showing the movie version of Ayn Rand’s philosophical novel about Howard Roark, the iconoclastic architect,” he said.

Roark, like Van Gogh or Michelangelo, refuses to give in to popular artistic design: “I don’t care what they think of architecture, or anything else.” Roark’s standards are so demanding and provincial that he has great difficulty in finding work. “I don’t have clients in order to build, I build in order to have clients.”
“I don’t get it” Quentin Daniels interrupted. “I thought capitalism works because the producer responds to consumer needs. Is Howard Roark anticapitalist?”

“You have a lot to learn, young man,” responded Galt. “Roark sets the highest standard. If the public doesn’t buy it, he will do something else — just as all of you are doing other things here in Atlantis.”

“That’s right!” said Kay Ludlow.

“And what are you doing, my dear?” inquired Dagny.

“The Fountainhead is supposed to be symbolic,” Richard Halley added. “It’s about the moral strength of the individual against the mediocrity of the masses.”

“That’s right — mediocrity,” said Dagny.

“That’s right — mediocrity,” said Francisco.

Roark is the unbridled individualist, the “supreme egoist,” opposed to all forms of self-sacrifice or charity: “I don’t give or ask for help.” The final speech of Howard Roark, “The Individual vs. the Collective,” is delivered with great fervor.

“In a true libertarian society, there would be no government welfare system, that I know,” said Hank Rearden. “But are there to be no charitable organizations, no churches to help the needy?”

“It’s obvious that Hank is right!” shouted Dagny, snuffing out two cigarettes.

Francisco d’Anconia was disturbed about another aspect of the film. “Frankly, fellow libertarians, the sex in this movie stinks! Dominique Francon appears incapable of showing real feeling and love. Sex with Roark is impersonal — only afterwards does she discover who he is. Who would want that kind of relationship?”

Dagny looked nervous as Francisco continued talking. “Can you imagine spending weeks alone in an empty country house? What a bore! To Dominique, freedom is empty; it is to want nothing, to depend on nothing. If this film were in color, there would still be no warmth.”

“Oh, who the hell wants color?” Dagny interjected.

Ragnar interrupted. “You might be interested in knowing that Miss Rand didn’t like the outcome of the film either, even though she wrote the screenplay. She wanted Greta Garbo to play the part of Dominique, and she hoped Frank Lloyd Wright would do the architectural designs. Some rank amateur produced some horrible modernistic work instead.”

“You mean she compromised her principles?” asked Rearden. No one replied.

On the thirteenth night, the audience gathered by the light of kerosene lamps. “How romantic!” said Kay Ludlow, but Galt did not reply. Dagny, too, remained silent.

After protracted debate about the morality of voting, an informal poll showed Cash McCall barely topping Shenandoah for Best Libertarian Picture. Paul Newman was voted Best Actor and Farrah Fawcett won Best Actress in a Future Libertarian Film.

John Galt reluctantly congratulated Ragnar Danneskjold for his choice of movies. “But of course,” he added, “the search for the ideal libertarian film won’t end until Atlas Shrugged has been produced.”

“And we can all play ourselves, Kay Ludlow sighed.

The throng of individualists trailed out into the fresh night air. In the distance could be seen the yellowish sign _ of a gold dollar, hovering high in the valley. A man appeared out of nowhere and approached the house, his glossy eyes looking straight ahead at John Galt.

Jo Ann Skousen’s Odds & Trends

Movie reviews, theater reviews, and commentaries by Jo Ann Skousen, author, editor, professor and Mark's wife of 41 years. She is the Festival Director for the Anthem Libertarian Film Festival and the entertainment editor for Liberty Magazine.

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